Will You Stay?
by DobbyRocksSocks
Summary: She doesn't know why she hasn't stopped it from happening. It's torture for her, but she allows it to continue, because he needs it, and it's all she can do to help him.
**Disclaimer - I own nothing you recognise.**

 **This isn't particularly set anywhere specific in the show, it just is. I hope you enjoy, and please drop a review on your way out.**

* * *

 **Will You Stay?**

* * *

She doesn't know why she hasn't stopped it from happening. It's torture for her, but she allows it to continue, because he needs it, and it's all she can do to help him. She also doesn't know why he chose her. Even as he gets older, there are plenty of women who still find him attractive, who would jump at the chance to offer him 'comfort' on a semi regular arrangement.

It helps, she supposes, that she can predict when he will turn up for the most part. A particularly bad case, usually involving children but not always, is a sure thing to set him off. Sometimes it will be something in his personal life, and those are the times it sneaks up on her, catching her unaware and hurting her twice as much.

He isn't trying to hurt her, she knows. He's not a bad person. He asks permission every time, and she gives it, gives herself to him. Because it's what he needs. In some ways, she needs it too. For her, it doesn't end when the orgasm does, and that is where they differ. She wants to stay in bed with him, to whisper about nothing and everything. She wants to spend their occasional weekend off work doing things together. She wants to enjoy bad movies and takeaways after a boring day in the office.

She won't stop him though. Above anything else, he is her friend, and she will do anything in her power to help him. Beyond that, though she does want what he's unable to give, he makes her feel more than any other man has before, and that alone is worth some of the pain she suffers.

She may hurt, but in her heart, she knows he's worth it.

* * *

He wants more from her, but she's already giving him so much that he doesn't know how to ask. He tries to show his appreciation for her in little ways, but he's quite sure that he's unsuccessful for the most part. He's quite sure that she has no idea how much she means to him, and how much he wants her.

How much he loves her.

He thinks sometimes that what they are doing is unfair to both of them. He doesn't know her reasons for allowing him in every time he knocks on her door, because Profiler or not, she's one too, and she's hard to read. He doesn't know if she's doing it for him or for herself, if she even wants him or if anybody she trusts would do to ward away the bad stuff, if only for a little while.

He thought about stopping it, to see what she would do, but he cannot bring himself to stay away from her. He physically aches for her, he emotionally needs her, his heart pines for her.

If this is the only way he can have her, then he will take what he can get.

It may hurt when he has to leave her, but in his heart, he knows she's everything.

* * *

Emily closed her eyes, leaning her head back against the seat. Dave is facing her, and one look at his morose expression told her all she needed to know. She would be lucky if she had time to shower before he arrives at her apartment. She knows he is watching her, can feel his gaze burning into her skin, but she is tired.

She can't find the energy to offer him a smile, to talk about the case they've just wrapped up, to discuss the images that are certainly going to interrupt her sleep that night. This one has hit her harder than most, she knows. She half wishes she had the strength to tell him not to come by, but she knows that she won't. With an internal sigh, she begins trying to sort the last few days into the boxes she keeps in her mind for her own protection.

* * *

Dave watches her on the plane ride home. She looks weary, wearier than he is used to seeing her look. She is usually the strong one, the one offering smiles and wise words and comfort. He want's to help her, but he doesn't know what she needs. A roll in the sack isn't going to fix this one though. Of that he is positive.

She lets out a barely perceptible sigh, and he answers with his own, turning his eyes to the window. She will be compartmentalising now, in a way that only Emily can. He wonders if that does more bad than good in the end.

* * *

The knock on the door comes slightly later than she's expecting, and she almost accepted that he'd decided he didn't need her that night. She's showered and changed into shorts and a tank, her hair is still drying, and she's washed away her make up. She doesn't want to open the door. She's feeling vulnerable. More vulnerable than she's ever been around him.

"Hey," he murmurs when she opens the door. Raising her eyebrow at the bag in his hand, she steps back to allow him entry. He shrugs off his jacket, hanging it on the same peg he always does, before he wanders off into the kitchen while she locks up.

"What's that?" she asks, her curiosity getting the better of her. Leaning against the side, she watches him take plates and cutlery from her cupboards like he's done it a thousand times before.

"I thought you might be hungry," he replies, his voice slightly husky.

She nods slowly. This is a new development and she doesn't know what to do with it. This has never been a part of his evening visits before. He doesn't bring food with him, because it's understood that she's the only thing on the menu.

"Chinese okay?" he asks, startling her from her thoughts.

"Fine," she answers uncertainly. "Would you like a beer?"

He grins, and she takes out two bottles from the fridge, crossing the kitchen to open them.

"Living room?" she offers, because the last thing she wants is to sit at the table to eat, trying to fill in awkward silences around egg fried rice.

"Sure. Let's see how bad of a movie we can find," he says then, picking up the plates of food he's set up. She leads him to the living room, putting the beers on the low coffee table. Sitting on the floor against the sofa, she smiles at him when he looks confused.

"I have to sit on the floor when I eat in here. I don't know why," she tells him as he sets the plates on the table.

He nods, sitting on the couch, close enough so that she could lean against his leg if she shifted slightly to the left. Flicking through the channels, she doesn't stop until she finds a movie that makes them both groan. Laughing, she sets the remote down and digs into the food, suddenly feeling like this could be something good.

She's comfortable around him, even while still feeling vulnerable, and that is something that's never happened to her before.

* * *

She's leaning against his legs and he cannot help threading his fingers through her hair. The food is long gone, and they are almost finished with their second movie. He is so comfortable, he thinks he could easily go to sleep here, rather than climbing the stairs to her bedroom, or worse, driving home to the loneliness of his own bedroom.

He feels her getting heavier against his legs, and he smiles despite himself. Apparently, he is not the only one who is tired.

"Em"?

"Hmm?"

"Bedtime, sweetheart."

She stiffens, and he doesn't know if it's the idea of actually sharing a bed with him, of having sex, or the pet name that slipped out without warning. He suddenly finds it ridiculous that they've shared their bodies with each other countless times, and yet, he has never spent the night with her. All at once, the implications of what he has been doing to her hit him hard in the chest and he groans.

How could he possibly have been so stupid?

She stretches a little and stands up, watching him uncertainly, and he could hit himself. He takes her hand and pulls her onto his lap, lacing his arms around her. She is tense in his arms, and he buries his face in her neck for a moment, inhaling the scent that is so perfectly Emily, that it is his favourite smell in the entire world.

"I am so sorry, sweetheart," he whispers against her skin.

"For what?" she asks, and the words are so quiet, he barely hears them. Moving, so he can meet her eyes with his own, he sighs.

"I... You know, it's funny. I've been married three times," he starts, and he can see fear, and worry and a glimmer of hope warring in her eyes as she stares at him. "I've given three other women more than I've given you, and yet, it's you who I should have given the world too. You... Em, you're everything. You're more important than the sun rising in the morning, more important than the oxygen that keeps me alive. Emily, you're the sole reason I get up in the morning. And I... the way I've treated you... I'm so, so sorry. Forgive me? Allow me to make it up to you?"

"Dave..." She trails off and he feels his heart sinking. Tears drop from her eyes onto her pale cheeks. "I love you, Dave. So much."

Wiping the tears from her cheeks, he lets his hand linger on her cheek. "I love you, Sweetheart."

She leans against him, and he tightens his grip on her. "Come on, baby. Let's go to bed."

When she stands, holding her hand out to him, he takes it with no hesitation.

"Will you stay?"

The words are whispered, but he hears them clearly, as though she'd shouted them across the room. He smiles.

"For as long as you'll let me."


End file.
